Hitting the right target
by Smoaked
Summary: Tumblr prompt: Oliver training Felicity how to fight, defend herself, shooting with bow and arrow. "She didn't think rolling around on the ground with your shirtless boss was part of any job description (although if it were, she probably would have joined as Oliver's EA a lot sooner)"


**Tumblr prompt: Oliver training Felicity how to fight, defend herself, shooting with bow and arrow.**

**Honestly, i wasn't too sure where to go with this because i've already read countless fics just like it (not that i don't still appreciate the prompt, because i do) but i just went with it. I'm not completely satisfied with it but i'm not sure what else to do. Thought i'd just post it up anyway for the anon who prompted this. Hope you like!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Arrow or any of its characters blah blah blah**

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"…now let go," Oliver instructed five feet away from Felicity. He'd been sparring with her on the training mats the entire morning and they'd just moved on to basic archery (honestly, there was nothing basic about archery to her). He'd insisted they start their self-defence training at the break of dawn – she never questioned it – and they were both a little worn out (her more than him).

He'd discarded his shirt some time in the middle of their session (which proved very distracting for Felicity because _what the hell was he thinking stripping off in the middle of their fight like that?_), a sheen of sweat glistening on his bare chest reminding her of their little tarzan-and-jane stunt back at Lian Yu. She didn't think rolling around on the ground with your shirtless boss was part of _any _job description (although if it were, she probably would have joined as Oliver's EA a lot sooner), but_ rolling around on training mats with your hot shirtless playboy vigilante boss _was definitely new. Felicity figured nobody could blame her if she _maybe _let her fingers linger on his biceps a fraction of a second longer than strictly necessary or allow her eyes to wander the expanse of Oliver's frame for just a moment longer than was socially appropriate. _Right? _It was just a natural biological reaction (and definitely not because she was finding it increasingly difficult to hide her ever-growing feelings for Oliver). She would have done the same with any man (if he were close to being as attractive as her current boss – although that would prove almost impossible – and even then, she doubts it).

Oliver was having a _really_ _hard _(it's a pun he decided he was masochistic for enjoying) time training Felicity. Normally, he had a better grip on himself (not really) but being so close her to familiar, inviting warmth was just torture (and he wouldn't use that word lightly because lord knows he's been through all variations of said suffering). As if that wasn't enough, it seemed as if Felicity was decidedly just as affected as he was, if her dilated pupils and lingering touches were any indication. Her obvious attraction to him never went unnoticed (the woman wasn't exactly subtle – he secretly enjoyed it), but the fact that she didn't even bother _trying _to restrain herself? It was almost as if she were teasing him – testing his resolve to _stay the hell away from her _so he wouldn't once again destroy the only thing good left about him, the one good thing in his life. The sheer amount of self control he was exerting around her, restraining himself from simply enjoying her caresses or stroking the creamy, soft skin on full display, was physically draining. She shouldn't even be _wearing_ such provocative clothing around him (or anyone, for that matter; he didn't want to think about the fact that imagining her seducing other men made him uncomfortable) – she either trusted him too much to not take advantage of her (he would_ never_, but it certainly took a lot out of him) or she didn't see him as a man with _hormones_ and _needs_ (she was wearing an old sports bra and baggy track pants).

Deciding it was time to move on to less _physical_ activities, he'd rushed (lunged, really) away from her towards his collection of training bows and arrows, desperate to avoid her seductive touch. Distancing himself from her (as if he could ever truly escape her, or would ever _want _to), he'd begun instructing her from the sidelines, careful to keep a minimum of 10 feet (which quickly and subconsciously dwindled to a mere 5) away from her.

The cold hit her the moment he left to grab a bow and arrow. His heat had been comforting (if not hypnotizing) and Felicity was left feeling bare and a little empty. _This is good_, she told herself. This was what she needed. Space. To focus.

But even with him standing a seemingly carefully constructed distance away, she could feel his ever-magnetic presence. Not to mention the fact that he was positioned directly in her line of vision meant his _sweaty, chiseled abs_ were on full display. Every time she tried to fire an arrow, her eyes would shift towards his chest and away from the target. Her whole body was stubbornly tense – she already found it hard to relax around him in ordinary situations, much less now – and she couldn't even point her arrow in the general direction of the bullseye, much to his chagrin. Well, it wasn't _her_ fault he was trying to distract her with his unabashed shirtlessness.

Letting go of the bowstring like Oliver instructed, Felicity sighed (she didn't sigh very much because it was a habit of restless people and she believed in productivity and earnestness) as the arrow veered left (again) and narrowly missed one of Oliver's punching bags.

"I can't do this Oliver. Why don't we leave the arrowing to you and I'll just stick to what I do best with my fingers?" she lamented, eliciting a raised eyebrow from Oliver.

"_Oh. _No, no – I mean, I'm very good with my fingers, as you probably well know – **NOT **that you'd know what I do with my fingers _personally_, but professionally, as your Girl Friday and trusty IT sidekick – not that I'm bad with my fingers otherwise but you don't have first-hand knowledge of that and I **don't **know why I just told you that. Also, that was not a pun I intended to make…" Felicity stuttered, which only added to Oliver's amusement.

Choosing not to comment on her verbal vomit (she coined it; he thought it was more of a window into the inner workings of her wondrous mind, not that he would ever admit that), he moved closer to her, carefully (and as platonically as he can manage) placing a hand on her elbow and resting the other on her waist, steadying her. He could tell from the moment she picked up the bow that she was way too tense to even begin target practice but he couldn't quite bring himself to close the distance and tutor her as he should because he knew, once he laid a hand on her, he wouldn't be able to stop.

But seeing Felicity's frustration at herself convinced him otherwise. He didn't like seeing her anything less than joyful. Plus, he really should be teaching her the right technique like Shado taught him if he wanted her to stand a chance at surviving an attack. The moment their skin made contact, she jumped, startled by their proximity (and maybe even a little excited by it). Their hips were perfectly aligned and she could feel his breath tickle her neck from the way they were positioned. She didn't dare move an inch for fear of ruining it somehow with her general awkwardness. She'd probably end up kneeing him in the groin or elbowing his solid chest.

Oliver felt her freeze under his touch and a part of him was annoyed because _really_? She didn't mind _kissing Digg on the cheek_ and she was uncomfortable with him trying to teach her _archery_? Holding her elbow at the right angle and shifting their hips so that she could properly face the target, he found Felicity almost pressed up against him, golden blonde tresses like sunshine and bright pink lips so inviting. She even smelled like happiness – an eccentric mix of apples and fresh grass on a rainy day (he had an overdeveloped sense of smell as a result of five years on the island; that was the only reason he noticed and it was definitely not because he always found it hard to remember to keep his distance from her, both physically and metaphorically). His hands unconsciously slid higher up her waist, gripping just a little tighter when he thinks back on the number of times he's denied himself of this – when he'd had to shy away from her touch or prevent himself from enjoying her warmth. Now that he's crossed that line, he's not sure how he could ever go back (he doesn't want to think about the fact that he'd already imagined countless times, as he's lying alone in bed at night, how they could progress from there).

"Just relax," he whispered huskily into her ear, "just breathe and let go."

You'd think their intimate arrangement would do the _opposite _of calm her (because really, she babbles around him even when they're _not_ almost practically vertically spooning) but his presence just fills her up and she feels_ safe_. Safe and protected and warm. She always feels safest around him. As her muscles loosen up, she allows herself to just feel the tightening of the bowstring as she draws it back and lets go at Oliver's command.

The arrow hits the bullseye.

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**Wasn't sure where to end so i decided to be a little shit and end it there.**

**I figured, with the way i (hopefully, successfully) portrayed their feelings for each other, there was no way they would go back to the way they were and could only move forward. As as for that, well, i leave it up to your imaginations.**

**Please review (honestly, give me your feedback so i can improve my writing) and fav! Thanks for reading til the end. (:**


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